Temper
by Vinessa S
Summary: Some say a pokemon raised by a bad person becomes bad itself. But how does it start? For Guzma and his Wimpod, it starts with a seed of discontent.


_Disclaimer:_ If I owned Pokemon I wouldn't be here, would I?

**A/N:** Something to note before you start: I wrote this back 2+ years ago when Sun & Moon were recently released, and as I wasn't able to get my hands on a copy at the time, I wrote based off what couple snippets of dialogue and scenes I saw regarding Guzma. So how true this is to the game is debatable. I was simply too inspired by what little I saw to not write something before playing the game myself!

**Temper**

The first and most important lesson Guzma had been taught at the Alola Regional Trainer School was that "It is mainly the trainer's responsibility to win the battle." Although yes, the pokemon was the one to fight, the trainer was the instigator and commander. The trainer was the one to help their pokemon learn moves and techniques, encourage them to grow, and to treat them with care so that they'll reciprocate your kindness with willingness to fight. So long as you found the balance between work and play you'll get far no matter what.

_"What a load of crap."_ Guzma thought. The young teen clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as, again, his Wimpod was lobbed back into the sand mound before his feet - a hesitant move made by the Lycanroc across from him. Once Wimpod regained himself from the blow he scuttled between Guzma's legs, trembling. In fear, in cowardice.

"Sorry about that!" Lycanroc's trainer called out, "I didn't think that move would do too much."

Guzma sighed and waved the comment off. "Nah, it's fine Kukui. Really is. It's me - I just need to prepare better."

"I think you're doing fine. It's just your Wimpod is -"

"A wimp? Yeah, that's kinda how he is. It's in the name, and all."

Kukui rubbed the back of his neck, casting Wimpod an apologetic look. "Not exactly how I'd put it, but... Maybe you could work out a different strategy with him? I know you like sending him out first, but with his ability, he takes one good hit and swaps himself with another pokemon to take the brunt of the next move without warning."

"Well, he's usually eager to battle at first, so I let him. And I follow all of our lessons. I take care of them, reward them for trying in battle. I don't see how I can change that too much..." Said Guzma.

"You don't have to, cousin! I'm just saying it might be worth changing up a bit, especially for the next tournament." Kukui's eyes veered off again, and Guzma followed it to his right side; haphazardly placed among varied lumps of sand was a thin and short trophy in the likeness of one of the island guardians, gleaming bronze in the sunlight.

The teen scowled. He looked back at Kukui, at the silver trophy on the bench beside his friend.

"Yeah. I guess."

* * *

Despite his slowly growing rage, Guzma put on a feigned calm and thanked Kukui for the battle. He retrieved his bronze trophy he had won earlier that same day, ready to walk home, where he'd place it next to his other two. All the way there he glared at the prize.

"Loser." A loud sigh. The teen stared hard at his faint reflection on the pokeball piece of the trophy, assessing. His Wimpod hadn't entered his ball since they left the school, and stayed tentatively behind his trainer's every heavy footstep. "You're doing something wrong - this is the third one in a row - is it you?"

He went on like this. Mumbling, trying to make sense of things but not fully grasping it. Guzma wasn't sure himself to whom he was directing this - but the statement felt just.

"-You tried harder this year but still no gold, no silver, you're still a loser, loser loser - god damn LOSER!"

Guzma stomped down. Dust kicked up - Wimpod let out a shriek, jumped and scuttled away. This alerted Guzma, and he whirled around to face the bug... Was he crying?

Even compared to other bug types, some would say, Wimpod was weak. Fragile. Easy to frighten. It would flee if someone were to simply move a muscle in its direction... But that was it nature; should Guzma really blame him for doing what he was meant to do?

"Aw man! I'm sorry..." Guzma said.

With a hand open and reaching out ahead of himself, Guzma crept towards the isopod. Wimpod still trembled as he approached but was slowly comforted as Guzma patted his shell and ruffled his antenae. Soon, the bug let Guzma pick him up.

"You didn't do anything wrong. You did fine. I'm your _trainer_ \- I'm the one who called the shots and I lost. It's... It's just me. Always is, don't forget that. Kay?"

That was when Guzma decided those words he first learned were right. His team was great; it didn't matter that they were bugs, or what their natures were. He was the one responsible for their victories. He was the one not doing good enough. Guzma placed Wimpod down, and quickly went back into his frustration, looking at his bronze failure and mulling over why all he's done wasn't enough.

* * *

For the few years into his apprenticeship as a Trial Captain, Guzma appeared elated and confident, patient and calculating. Sure, he was still amateur and his smarts didn't lead him to the best tactics often - but he loved what he did. He didn't care as much about the reward as much as he did the excitement of battling. However, as time whittled by and the teen brought home anything but gold, things were unhinging. Guzma caught himself constantly wondering how important battling so hard was - if you don't earn something that equals your efforts?

And he started to loathe the sight of his "accomplishments."

"How's it an accomplishment anymore?" Guzma would begin to ask himself. "How's it that when it's just telling me I'm not good enough? Not good enough to be a Trial Captain?"

* * *

The first thing that broke was Guzma's bug net. This day, Guzma had lost with his full team in a battle outside the trainer's school, a trainer his mentor Hala suggested he fight. His Spinirak, Masquerain, and especially Wimpod, were swept by just one pokemon.

Again he contained himself, opting to catch more bug pokemon for his team after the fact. But with the sting of loss still fresh one failure was all it took to snap.  
Wimpod could only witness his trainer as he swung down on a Venipede. Its little claws acted surprisingly swift in its evasion, swerving around tree trunks and through the thick underbrush. Guzma lurched and swung and whirled and -

_Ping!_

Venipede sprung off a birch, throwing itself into the adjacent side of the tall grass skirting the edges of the clearing. The metal net hit brutally against the tree, bouncing back in recoil - and Guzma mindlessly swung again. Wimpod jumped, and hurriedly tried giving chase to the other bug, but lost sight of the Venipede within moments. He was pathetic. He couldn't aid his trainer even slightly, who was now wildly swinging his net anywhere in blind fury. Trees, jutting rocks, the trodden forest floor - there wasn't anything the net didn't hit, denting and bending it, besides Wimpod and anything near the isopod. Guzma made one hard thrust with his knee to the shaft.

_Snap._

Guzma didn't bring the two pieces home with him that night. After all, he reasoned, it was better off to the Grubbin than in his hands.

* * *

How unfortunate that the teen had become weak to rage over the years, almost always at the sight or thought of his accomplishments. Every trial challenge? Could've done better. Battles or errands Hala sent him on - ones Guzma thought he was supposed to beat to earn the Kahuna's favor? All had broke him under pressure in the end. After so long, his finally speaking up had begun to sour the relationship between the two.

Not to mention Guzma's father; he was observant. He had a coarse, loud voice, though always lined with good intentions of teaching the boy, that only served to the contrary after every one of his scoldings in Guzma's latter challenge losses.

* * *

"It's them." Guzma bitterly looked over all of his trophies and medals. They were compiled in a neat line at his window, bronze sheen masked by the illusion of silver in the midnight light. Only one or two shone genuine silver; none were gold.

Wimpod brushed up against him.

"It's them. Not me." He repeated, a firm conclusion in his voice. As his narrowed eyes graced over each trophy, he remembered the people close to him at those times. Kukui, Hala, his parents... Wimpod followed his gaze, and appeared deeply saddened until Guzma picks the bug and embraces the little guy. This time, the tears aren't coming from Wimpod. "Them - not us."

Guzma wanted to use his voice now, to drill his hopeless conclusion into his head and get it right, but he couldn't. He should be asleep by now.

Tomorrow was it. The last year to compete for the trials.

Wimpod's attempts to calm this nerve-wracked teen led him up and down Guzma's body, the scurry of his claw-like legs leaving a strange tickling feeling. He crawled into Guzma's white-dyed hair; what was once a slick, managed cut now a disheveled mess, spiking up in odd places from clutching and pulling.

"Awww, dude... I could never be mad at you."

But that can't be true, was always Wimpod's thought. He couldn't help but think that...

That this was all his fault?

He was so inept in battle - yet his trainer insisted on using him more than any other on his team. The fear of conflict was his trait - yet Guzma scolded himself instead of the bug, and let himself go. Guzma broke his bug net because Wimpod stood behind and couldn't weaken a wild pokemon; Guzma even dented his favorite sunglasses out of a flurry of rage, when Wimpod saw for sure the teen was contemplating putting his foot down on the isopod.

"... But you at least try, dontcha?"

It seemed like some reassuring thoughts of Wimpod's, but it was actually Guzma.

"I don't wanna throw you to the curb like those, those other losers! And ya know what? - We'll show 'em this one last time. We've been at this so long. It's _their_ fault they couldn't see that before."

Wimpod hopped onto Guzma's chest as the teen laid down on his bed. Before they fell asleep, there was a very odd tone to Guzma's voice as he said,

"But if we get anything besides the win this time? I just don't know _what_ I'll do."

* * *

Through all the bemusement of noise and curses and settling dust, Wimpod felt a sudden spark of emotion. _Anger_. He lay in the dirt, observing as his trainer strode over to Hala with an accusing finger pointed at him. He had the gall to stand nose-to-nose with the old man, towering over him and letting loose. What it was for, Wimpod could scarcely remember. He was too fatigued.

"I've had it up to here with this crap, old man!... You alwaays make it so I lose, huh?..."

"I do nothing of the sort... Have to prepare to counter the unexpected..."

"And what difference is that gonna make?! I can't compete no more!... Might as well give up!"

"You do not have to... Always other things to do..."

Guzma didn't like that. He raised a shaking fist towards Hala. This alarmed Wimpod, and the desperate thought of interfering before more damage was done crossed his mind, but the bug could only hope to get to that point. Instead, he could only crawl a painful few inches closer, enough to hear the conversation in full. Then he remained there. His remaining energy was used in letting out a small chitter and forcing his eyes to stay open. As it always was, the isopod was a helpless witness as Guzma reeled his shaking fist back to strike like a Hitmonchan -

With the speed that reminded Wimpod of many of his opponents, Hala caught Guzma's fist right before it met with his face.

The old Kahuna was quiet in observation. Gaze unwavering. Guzma was panting in anger, his other hand now holding a tight grip on his own hair. As if he just realized he was touching something foul, Guzma wrenched his hand out of Hala's grip.

The nineteen-year-old continued, "You ain't helping me ya old coot! - you keep lecturing and _advising_ me only after everything's over and I blow a gasket! That how ya treat every kid?! - that how ya gonna treat dat kid over there?! -" Guzma motioned to the six-year-old boy a short distance from them, gazing wide-eyed at the scene. He had just gotten back to his grandfather's house. "... Or is it something about me myself that ticks you off?"

Silence fell between them once more. Hala looked down, then at his grandson, then back at Guzma. He sighed, finally.

"Guzma. I always saw you were goal-oriented, focused. You have been since we met, yet I can't help but notice you've changed not for the better. Your temper is getting the best of you - I've seen your fits after losing a match, heard what goes on at your home. You look like a thug. You sound like a thug. As a child, there was something in you. But now I cannot see you as a proper Captain. You've lost your heart, your passion."

Those words cut through Guzma like a knife - Wimpod could see it. There was hurt. There was distance. But most importantly, there was his temper. He backed away.

"Fine." He said. "Fine, fine... I get it."

Hala smiled.

"You don't think I'm good enough, huh?! Cuz I ain't like the others? Cuz I talk like this, walk like this, don't look like one of those good-two-shoes looking chumps that that always kiss their teacher's ass and get whatever they wanted?!"

"That isn't exactly -"

"Oh. Yeah. And the anger issues... So? What else d'you expect me ta do? -"

Guzma did the best innocent simper he could feign through his seething, "Oh, it'll be just fine! Always another year! - OF COURSE NOT! How'd you feel if you were kicked around with nothing to show for all the work and stress and time!? I - I - and how'd ya find out 'bout -"

The teen sighed loudly. Hala put a hand on his shoulder, but it was smacked away immediately.

"Know what? I'm done. I'm just - I ain't doin' this -" Guzma began to tread away from Hala, to the gate where the young boy was standing and Wimpod, laying, "You know, if I really did lose my heart and passion - it's 'cause you and Kukui and everyone else _beat_ it to the ground. I ain't following _your_ footsteps no more, 'cuz that don't work. When ya'll see me again? HA! I'll be better than ya - I'll be better than EVERYONE!"

Wimpod knew now not to shy away from his trainer's touch as Guzma reached down to pick up the wounded isopod. No matter how angry Guzma could get - he had never once hurt his pokemon.

Even if they felt worthy of the blame.

Who knows; perhaps everyone here was to blame. Before Wimpod's vision faded to black at the sight of a familiar red-white building, he thought of a growing rage of his own.

* * *

"You wanna fight, huh?"

Wimpod could see the weariness in his trainer's eyes even from across the cafe as Guzma sat at a corner table. The bug-type was milling around the entrance; a new emotion had sprung upon him, and he felt the need to impress Guzma despite his overwhelming fears. Guzma didn't move.

The white-haired young man mumbled inaudibly with his head in his hands. He was still stressed over the events that transpired earlier - and more, it seemed. Wimpod scuttled back to him.

"You... Really... Wanna?" He repeated. "Sorry homeboy... I jus' can't... _Huff_ \- I can't believe he told 'im that - I told 'im not to say that 'cause Hala was gonna be pissed!" He was rambling frantically as if being interrogated, waving his hands defensively to no one. In one random swing he knocked his mug off the edge -

Wimpod tumbled backwards - shrieked - and sharp ceramic pieces shot outwards, liquid pooling onto the floor.

"Aw shit -"

"Hey!" The barista called over, "That was a fine mug!"

"Zip it! It was an accident!" Guzma barked back. He sighed, crossed his arms, and sunk back lower into his chair. Unknowing to him, this barista came over.

And he was _smiling_.

"It's alright. I can tell you've had a bad day."

Guzma didn't look up. "Uh-huh."

The barista then slammed a new mug down in front of Guzma, making him jump. It was filled to the head with a chesnut-colored hot drink.

"I believe this'll help you relax." He said.

" - What is it?"

"Tapu cocoa. It works to relieve a drinker's circulation, helping them keep a cool mind about themselves."

Guzma held his mug hesitantly. "Aaand, you ain't charging me for this?"

The barista laughed, "Ah, I hate seeing customers not enjoying themselves here. Drink up!"

This tapu cocoa seemed to bring Guzma at peace for a while. Wimpod crawled up and rested in Guzma's tousled hair; the bug's trainer laid his chin down on the table and was gazing through the window at passing pedestrians. Finally, this day looked to have a mellow outcome.

"What're we gonna do, bud? I'm just gonna... Give up on that trial crap altogether. We don't need it. Don't need any restrictive traditions holdin' us down... Don't need no one holdin' us down or talkin' behind our backs."

Guzma shot up suddenly, nearly throwing Wimpod off his head. They both noticed the sun setting - Wimpod had only a faint clue of what was going through his trainer's head.

"When we get back, I want ya to stay outside." He said. For reassurance, he grabbed Wimpod and brought him down to eye level. "Got it?... Good. I'll getcha when I can."

* * *

Whatever was taking place in the family home, it was not pleasant.

Then again, it barely ever was, when it was between Guzma and his father. Whenever Wimpod had seen them together they always had at least one bitter disagreement. It was a relationship that also soured throughout the years, patience wearing ever thinner as scoldings became more frequent.

Still, it never devolved into an all-out shouting match, where every word was spoken a little louder than the last. Never came to blows either. Wimpod couldn't ensure the latter was true though; he was only on the porch of the small abode. But at one point he heard a sharp _snap!_, similar to when Guzma broke his net. He's never heard things break during an argument between them. With the fear something was happening to his trainer, the isopod hoped that someone would unlock the door, or a window, so that he could hurry in.

But would he really? Every sound he hears makes him flinch. Just as he was scared for his trainer, he was yet scared of moving any closer to the sounds. And what would he do if he did get in, anyway? He's never been able to help his trainer.

_Snap!_\- Another one of those sounds, and Wimpod can't stand wondering. He opts to look inside. Latching onto the siding of the home, he crawls on a window.

The wimpy pokemon saw two shadows flickering on a wall: one, presumably Guzma, was backing away from imposing figure of his father while waving an object at him, taunting. Ah, those things - golf clubs? - he's seen always stashed in the corner of the living room. They were usually straight - but this one had it's end bent to a whole other angle.

Guzma's dad lurched - forced the club away from his son's grip - and held it back over his head in one swift and angry movement. Wimpod shrieked.

Guzma's dad dropped the club tiredly at his side.

"_Go. To. Your room._" The older man said, seething with rage. Yet the only movement he made was point. Guzma finally came into Wimpod's view but focused on nothing but his father. His door rattled the window when he slammed it shut behind him. Wimpod crawled off the window and hurried down the porch. Scuttling around to the back of the house, he then crawled up to the window of Guzma's room.

This time, he saw no movement. No shadows. Moonlight was the only light reaching into the room, and there was a large lump under the covers. Guzma had already went to bed. Either that, or he was simply trying to forget everything around him existed.

Even Wimpod, apparently.

The isopod didn't even bothering trying to gain the young man's attention. He thought about it: crying out or clicking his little claws to make sure it was only the heat of the argument that had made Guzma forget to check on the bug; not that he didn't want the wimpy pokemon, as he insisted so many times. Wimpod was so overwhelmed by his doubts, however, that the bug-type merely slid off the side of the house.

He could always run away.

That was something he was good at. And if his fear was true, there was no point in staying here.

But he could not. Would not. Something told him to stay here - a spark of anger, as he'd realized earlier today. The pokemon laid by the window, shivering against the icy breeze, and attempted to rest. Maybe Guzma would remember him in the morning?

* * *

It was later in the night when an entrance opened up to Wimpod. Though, he would not need it. When the window of Guzma's room cracked open, a backpack dropped down like a boulder, kicking up dust and shaking the ground around the little bug. Guzma followed suit. He looked wound for sound.

"Sorry to keep ya waiting. Didn't want ya ta hear that if you was in your pokeball, eh?" He said. Wimpod was surprised, but more than relieved to hear his trainer's voice. The bug, quaking from the cold, was warmed when Guzma reached down to pet him.

"Damn, bud, you're freezin'..."

Guzma took Wimpod up in his arms, and Wimpod snuggled against the source of warmth. The trainer sat on his bag and looked around.

"Hope ya didn't like it here." Suddenly rising to his feet again, he hauled his backpack over his shoulder, "We're leavin' this joint and ain't comin' back."

* * *

How long does it take for one to finally snap? For Guzma, not very long; Wimpod had witnessed his trainer's temper flare higher and higher with each passing year, each trial and tourney lost. Who was once a well-conditioned rising star was a self-doubting, self-loathing young man with an impulse towards anger and violence.

Wimpod couldn't fully comprehend it before, but now he sees just how much things have changed as they wander down a barren, barely trodden path. No clue as to where they'd end up; no goal in mind to set them on this track. What had remained of that rising star - the hope that one day he'd wear the title of Trial Captain, even if it meant for one year - had been left behind with their home.

Guzma isn't the same person Wimpod befriended him for. He was brash, callous - _intimidating_. Just how the trilobite perceived the other pokemon as in those hated pokemon battles. And that was something that scared him more than anything else. That his own trainer scared him.

Does Wimpod truly want to stay with his trainer?

Does _Guzma_ want him to stay?

The pair reached a rocky slope which oversaw a clearing ringing with noise. A pack of wild Rockruff were milling about, young and spry little things that fought in play and yapped and ran.

Guzma gritted his teeth - and suddenly they both recalled the rival and friend Guzma once had. One that was also rejected, yet was always one step ahead of them. Just like Kukui his pokemon, Guzma thought, the Rockruff were unconcerned for the young man watching with outrage on his mind.

"_Fight 'em._"

Wimpod looked up. His trainer was looking down at him, arms crossed, scowling.

"Fight 'em," He repeated, "If ya can't fight them, then... maybe we just don't need each other."

When he received nothing but a thousand yard stare, Guzma shrugged - "If I can't train ya then - and if I can't train ya now - how am I gonna train ya at all? Huh?"

The isopod expected himself to simply lay down and whimper at the realization that this could be the end of their friendship. Instead, that strange feeling was rising inside again like the start of a small fire. _Rage_. He's failed at impressing his trainer for so long. He wanted that to end.

So this is what Guzma had been feeling?

But when he sprang down into the middle of the clearing below in a moment of blind anger, landing in the middle of the pack of Rockruff, that rage had quickly dissolved into a sense of helplessness. His nature returned and the Rockruff abandoned what they'd been doing. Growling, the largest stepped forward.

"Water gun!" Guzma commanded.

Wimpod spat a jet of water at the mutt, but it was prepared, hopping sideways. Water blasted onto the ground in all directions. When Wimpod turned to face the Rockruff, the bug type found only a silver streak marking where the dog landed - and where it was going.

Rockruff didn't attack at first. Wimpod was constantly whirling around, attempting to catch a glimpse of the opponent among the silver streaks and its spectating packmates. He instinctively scurried against the rocky escarpment. Already, Wimpod's nerve was betraying him.

Rockruff struck with the force of a boulder, knocking Wimpod back and sending him into a wild roll across the clearing. He skid to a halt; when the dust cleared he found himself within the thick of the Rockruff pack. With eager eyes upon him, they began to howl. Wimpod could hear Guzma cursing and stomping from the lip of the cliff.

"You can't even fight a damn Rockruff?! Oh, c'mon! - Aqua jet?"

But the other Rockruff were already upon him; gnawing his shell, tossing him in the air, batting him with their snouts. It was more of a lively game than an actual fight yet Wimpod still couldn't counter.

An opening wouldn't make itself known until the Rockruffs hesitated for a mere moment. Taking a brief break from their 'toy'. Wimpod touched the ground and, peeking a gap between two small Rockruff, bolted as fast as he could between them. He could clearly see Guzma sitting at the ledge, head in his hands, not daring to peek out. The nineteen-year-old already knew the battle was lost. This was the time when Wimpod came cowering back to him always. Scuttled back to the safe space between his feet. Always.

At that sight, the bug pokemon stopped dead in his tracks.

How long does it take for one to change? For Wimpod, its been too long; he's already witnessed the evolution of his trainer from one so ambitious and determined to someone belligerent and envious. He's seen his trainer's friends and teachers come and go, and Wimpod's own teammates grow over time. Yet, while things around him have changed, Wimpod stayed the same. Wimpod couldn't stand what he would become - but he could not stand letting his trainer down one last time. He had to stand his ground. He had to fight. He had to _beat them_.

Wimpod ignored the fact he was shaking. He broke through his own hesitance, backing away from Guzma and turning to face the pack. An advancing Rockruff lunged at the bug - Wimpod kept his eyes locked to it as it flew - and blasted out a stream of water just as he was about to be met with paws and teeth, sending it flying back with a yelp.

The next few moments became a rush; a flurry of pent-up rage boiling to the surface. He dodged attacks with an unknown reflex - countered attackers with blasts of water that only became quicker and more forceful as he got lost in the moment.

"Wh - uh - huh?" Guzma lifted his head. "I - Wimpod? I - I can't believe..."

The trainer jolted up, rejuvenated. He took the advantage Wimpod had now and uses it to gain control of the situation.

"Ha-hah! That's what I'm talkin' about! Whirlpool!"

Wimpod halts his assault. He manipulates his water gun to the best of his abilities, spinning and coiling it and feeding its growing size, before unleashing it. The vortex spirals around the field - one Rockruff is knocked back - another, caught in the spiral and lobbed into the night sky. As it moved, it sowed havoc across the whole clearing.

"Hah ha haaa, ya got it now, homeboy! Knock 'em down! _Beat 'em down!_" Guzma laughed at the scene. He couldn't get enough of it! To him, for what Wimpod was worth in battle, it was a scene of destruction. And he _relished_ it.

One of the injured Rockruff that was pushed back by the whirlpool raised its snout to the moon. A shrill cry breaks Wimpod's trance.

"Beat 'em down." He hears Guzma repeat.

The isopod glanced back to the escarpment, seeing his trainer cracking a maniacal grin. That was enough to push his guilt aside.

This time, another howl erupted in the night, this time from a distance; a response to the Rockruff's howl, clear and piercing. There was the sound of hastened footsteps becoming clearer and clearer before Wimpod was tossed back by a big back paw. Guzma was too late to alert him.

A Lycanroc had joined the fray.

Whatever energy Wimpod had found, it seemed to be sucked away in that one strike. Just as he crashed into the earth his pain and fatigue became too suddenly realized. His shell scratched and claws aching, the bug could barely peel his eyes open to see the threat. He tried to move. He really did. But his claws ceased to work.

... No! No, he couldn't back down! Not now! He had finally had the upper hand! He finally fought back! Guzma... Guzma was happy! He'd finally proved himself to Guzma...

This wasn't fair! He had to win! He couldn't lose. Not again. _Not... Again!_

Within him, something changed.

It was all a blur in that moment. There was a blinding white light, before his limbs started moving and twisting unpleasantly. He thought the Lycanroc had grabbed ahold of him - he couldn't see - so he began to swing wildly. Only then did he notice his front claws had extended in front of him. His hind claws, too, had transformed, becoming two insectoid feet that he stood upon with surprising strength.

The brightness had dissolved as abruptly as it had come, and the trilobite found himself looking down upon the Lycanroc. He was nearly three times its height.  
The two pokemon did not move. They only shared a long, silent moment. Then - Guzma called out.

"Never let up... Golisopod."

Wimpod, now evolved, wrenched back one of his armored arms. Lime green energy coating two massive claws, he charged with a swiftness his legs previously could never muster. Dust whirled up in his wake - Golisopod swung his arm down onto the Lycanroc's skull before it could even think of countering, slamming it into the ground.

He didn't stop there. The insectoid pummeled the dog further with thrashing arms - tossed it about like a rag doll even after it lay unconscious. Any unfortunate Rockruff that dared try to defend their pack leader got smacked at best, beaten and trampled at worst.

Other Rockruff chose to save their own hides by retreating. The Rockruff that had faced Golisopod's wrath took longer to come to their senses and follow after their packmates. Lycanroc only found an opening to flee when Golisopod hesitated for a mere moment.

The battle was won. Wimpod had won - but now, he was not Wimpod anymore.

Once the dust tapered out, Golisopod found his trainer coming up beside him.

"You destroyed them, yo." He said. "And look! You got a killer new look to yourself while you're at it! Pretty sweet, eh? Feelin' alright?"

Guzma's expression looked as if this turned out to be the best day of his life. To Golisopod, that was all he could ask for. He let out a chittering laugh. Nodding, he then enveloped his trainer in a hug with his six thinner arms. He was pleased to feel Guzma trying to return the hug.

"Geez... you're taller than me now... heh... so ya just got fed up, didn't ya? Tired of getting smashed down every time you try harder? Makes us two cozy little peas in a pod, I guess." The young man had enough of this gooey affection and broke away from Golisopod, staring up at him. "Hey, I ain't gonna force you to stay where ya don't wanna be. But if you feel up to it, homeboy, we'll go and beat down Alola _together._"

Golisopod nodded an affirmative, more than eager. Finally! After all these years, he felt like he could be worth something more to his trainer. Something that could stop him from going berserk, something that could pummel down anything - anyone - for his trainer's sake. It didn't matter, so long as everything they would work for down the road wouldn't get demolished.

And there Golisopod made a promise to himself: to never let up, no matter what Guzma would become.

* * *

**A/N: **Of course, I made necessary revisions to this story. But for something I wrote on a tiny notebook in nearly one go, I was impressed enough at it (_mainly the fact it's an actual completed story for once shh_) to put in the effort of polishing it up a little. Hopefully I wrote Guzma well enough. What did ya'll think? Hope you enjoyed! ~


End file.
